CHAPTER 2
RUNNING THE JUNGLE
He has run his heart out and there is nowhere left to run. They are too close and he knows his only chance is to vanish, if he is to survive. The rain has stopped but the wetness remains. He presses his face into the damp earth and tries to still his senses. If he can’t see them, hear them, feel them, then perhaps they won’t find him. First he had turned into a powerful, fighting jaguar, then a slithering, twisting anaconda, now finally he becomes a small, burrowing beetle. His colour also gradually changes. The monkey’s body is still warm and for a moment he thinks it might still be alive and might exact its revenge and shout out a cry. He listens intently but there is no heart murmur, no sound, nothing at all. Slowly, gently and carefully he pushes it away further into the decaying vegetation covering it with a thin layer of leaves.
The monkey’s life had ended some time back, when he had finally spotted it in the canopy and lifted Moonbeam to his lips, to send the dart speeding towards it; now his life might also be forfeit. He hadn’t hesitated to bring it down, even though he knew its life was precious, for it was the law of the jungle. Although he knew he had been wrong to follow it into another tribe’s territory he had felt he had no choice. His family needs food and he has to provide for them. He had been tracking it carefully for some time, following it deeper into the rainforest, ever since he had spotted it swinging leisurely between the giant cedars, seemingly unaware it was being observed. Within the jungle he knew how to make himself invisible then and hopes he can do the same now.
They must have been close by and heard the sounds of the monkey falling but probably wouldn’t have known what it was. But they are also hunters and would need to investigate. He is well outside his own territory and inside theirs and that makes him an enemy and they will be determined not to allow him to leave. He had quickly gathered up the monkey from the foliage, sliding it into his net but even then he had worried that there had been too much noise, although the jungle is always filled with many strange movements. Immediately he starts to move faster although not running, as that could also attract attention, but making his way back as fast as he can, knowing how pleased everyone would be with his kill. At first he doesn’t hear them but then there are too many similar sounds behind him and suddenly he realises that he is being followed. He guesses there are perhaps four or five of them pursuing him. He can’t fight them all and his only chance of survival will be to outrun them or to hide.
He steps up his pace listening intently to all the sounds of the rainforest, as he knows they will as well. Previously he had allowed his quiver with the remaining darts to fall, it could easily be replaced, but he is still finding it difficult carrying both the monkey and Moonbeam, and together they are slowing him down too much. He can’t leave the monkey as that would mean it had all been for nothing. So, as soon as he can without slowing his pace, almost within just a heartbeat, quickly finding a partly-broken, hollowed-out tree, he slides Moonbeam inside and hides it behind some loose, green and yellow vines. The broken tree is next to a larger kapok tree and three thin, chonta palms, so he hopes to be able to come back within a few days and recover it. Since a child he has known how to read the forest and understand the way of the trees and he should easily find it again. Now the most important thing is to escape.
He lengthens and quickens his stride, breaking and cutting his way through the dense foliage and bushes and twisted lianas which try to impede him. There is no need to be quiet now, speed is everything. He is strong, completely determined and he thinks he can make it. Their following, echoing sounds had at first intensified but now they gradually start to fade and he feels he is faster. His heart is pounding so hard that it feels as if it might burst through his chest, but he knows they will be the same and that encourages him to keep going. The hunter is himself being hunted but he has no fear, feeling only the necessity of survival. He starts to think he is winning the contest and to feel confident he can make it through as he hugs the monkey to his body. Its warmth seems to be willing him to continue.
Now he is sure he is losing them and he runs harder, his lungs almost bursting with the effort. Suddenly there are foreign sounds from his left, then also from the right, closer than before. He realises that they have started to circle around him. They know the jungle better, this is their territory. He now recognises, although again without fear, that he isn’t going to out run them – they would know how to take advantage of the shortcuts. He must use all his cunning to outwit them. That will be his only chance. It is time to vanish. Where is the right place? Not here, nor over there but he must do it soon, before they come too close.
This seems the ideal spot, a gentle banking slope that is covered with low bushes and full of decaying vegetation that should hide his smell and even more importantly, the smell of the monkey. He slows, listens and then allows himself to sink softly to his knees before rolling, so quietly that they won’t hear, into and underneath the vegetation. It takes only moments and he is out of sight.
He stills his breathing and becomes a creature of the rainforest; gradually changing to one of the smallest. Now he can hear nothing of them and soon he feels convinced they have no knowledge of what he’s done and have lost him. It becomes so quiet that he can hear the silence of every leaf that falls. The jungle and the rainforest are magical places and even now, in the midst of danger, he can appreciate what raw, potent beauty exists here for those who understand it. He keeps his eyes closed, partly in the belief that if he can’t see them, just as if he can’t hear them, they won’t see or hear him. Gradually, it takes several long seconds, he opens his left eye, his instinct telling him there is something to know, although at first he can’t see anything. Then very close, just over a hand length away, a long line of the fierce soldier ants marches into his vision. Their proximity makes them seem even larger than usual and he hopes they haven’t been attracted by the smell of the monkey. Many times previously he has used them, mostly when out hunting, to bind a wound as their pincers are incredibly strong and they will never let go. If any were to grip him now he wouldn’t cry out, he would take any pain without a murmur. His very life depends on it and he understands only too well the lore of the jungle. It seems almost an eternity, it is a very long column but eventually the ants pass by and disappear into the undergrowth and he is alone once again.
There are still no sounds of his pursuers and he gradually starts to relax. Hopefully they have also passed and lost him. He thinks he could soon be safe and then tonight he would provide his family with a feast and a story. The forest is slowly drying out and there are all kinds of rustlings as it starts to spring slowly back into life. The sun is still trying to fight its way through, as always without much success, attempting to pierce the thick, overhead canopy that binds most of the trees together. They are all in a constant life struggle to reach upwards to the light and the essence it provides. Overhead a solitary bird flutters its wings as it also struggles its way through the intensely intermingled branches. He doesn’t need to see it to know it is a macaw, just as he knows when a caiman is close by, hiding and waiting in the river shallows, even though he can’t see it.
It has suddenly become very quiet, too quiet, and he feels instinctively uneasy. He guesses they are near, very near, and he tries to go deeper inside himself in order to avoid attracting their attention. They are good, very good, possibly better than he is and so after all he hasn’t fooled them. This is their territory and they would probably know every part of it, as he knows his. They had never given up looking for him and have continued to use all their senses to track him. It is much too late to run now, even without the monkey, they could be anywhere around him. Probably they had split into several groups, one or more of them staying behind, at least another one circling in front. They may be closing in. He asks the jaguar and the anaconda to save him although he realises it is probably too late, perhaps it was a curse from the dying monkey. He dare not move in any way, he must know nothing of what
is around him, he is ceasing to exist.
Until the vine is looped through his ankles he doesn’t feel their approach but as it tightens he then hears their soft battle whoop of victory, signalling his capture. He makes no sound. It is not his way and it is not the way of his tribe. They start to pull him upwards, with harsh, unrelenting force, his bound feet making it difficult for him to stand but he won’t allow himself to fall. Without their asking he knows what is required, it is the rule of the jungle and he pulls out his treasured knife and passes it over. It had been given to him by his father, only one long blade but honed extremely sharp, the way he was always taught to keep it. The knife could slice through anything but now it will be used against him. His sadness is that he won’t be able to give it to his son. He doesn’t close his eyes but stops seeing, focusing his mind on a distant high mountain, in the way he had learned as a child. Now his running is over.
CHAPTER 3
TOUGH TIMES ON EL NORTE
Iam anxious to climb and ready to test myself again, and Luis, my guide, thinks I should have a good chance of climbing Iliniza Norte to the summit. Previously I had been expecting to climb with Domingo, who had been highly recommended by another climbing colleague. Dom and I had built up a good understanding through our e-mails but he unfortunately became unavailable due to a family problem in another part of the country. I met Luis at one of the climbing schools and he agreed to climb with me in Dom’s place. Subsequently discussing our plans, it turns out that Luis is more hesitant in making climbing decisions, which I find somewhat worrying. I always prefer a guide who is as determined as I am, somebody with strengths to balance my lack of greater experience, but who takes into account my commitment and enthusiasm. I’ve climbed with many different types of guides over the years, but usually only on the mountain and in adverse conditions does real character show through. Time will undoubtedly tell. I have to focus intently on the mountain.
Now we’re close to setting off and Luis suddenly reveals a few concerns. The current weather forecasts are not favourable on most mountains and there have been several recent reports of mishaps involving climbers who experienced severe difficulties in constantly changing conditions and only just escaped in time. Norte is not usually snow capped but there have been some worrying reports of sudden snow storms around the summit that are creating difficulties for climbers. Despite these worries, Luis knows I am keen to attempt a climb and this one has such a reputation, we agree to proceed. We both know that it’s rare for there to ever be an ideal time to climb, as high mountains carry their own weather which can always change rapidly. Anyhow, Iliniza will be good practice for my later attempt on Chimborazo, which I am planning to climb towards the end of the expedition.
Luis is a thin, wiry climber, supposedly well experienced in the mountains but rather taciturn and doesn’t express his emotions easily. In that way he is certainly not the typical South American or Ecuadorian whose loud and excitable voices can invariably be heard throughout this region expressing diverse opinions on every subject under the sun. In fact, the hot Equatorial sun usually adds on several degrees of noise and volatility to any ‘discussion’.
‘We’ll go if you want to. I’ll leave the decision to you.’ Those aren’t exactly the words I want to hear, but I am prepared to climb.
The Ilinizas are, in fact, twin summits comprising Iliniza Norte (North) and Iliniza Sur (South). Norte is 5,126 metres (16,818 feet) and Sur is 5,248 metres (17,218 feet). Iliniza was originally one volcano but now there are two peaks, which were separated by a huge eruption many years ago and are now joined by a low rock saddle and set approximately one kilometre apart from each other. It was a favourite mountain of the Incas and often used for sacrificial purposes. There can be found the remains of a number of Incan fortresses (pucaras) here on the lower slopes, as well as on other high hills or ridges. They always tend to blend in with the rock background however, so you need to be eagle-eyed, or even condor-eyed, to spot them. Its name comes from Quichua, the language of most of the indigenous tribes, and apparently means, ‘The Supposedly Sick One’, probably deriving from the knowledge of the volcano in the distant past splitting into two. There is also the mythical story that the peaks are two lovers that were forcibly separated and then eventually changed into female and male mountains by a powerful wizard.
To reach the area of the mountain we drive away from the hustle of the city of Quito for several hours across very bumpy terrain, passing herds of grazing cows and sheep that don’t even bother to look up as we pass by. I start becoming more excited the closer we come to the mountain and start bouncing up and down in the front seat. That could of course be caused by the shaking of the car which hardly appears to have any suspension, and Luis seems to be deliberately seeking out the parts of the track which are the most uneven. He can obviously see my excitement but doesn’t enquire why the approach to the mountain is having such an effect on me. Initially I try to explain, telling him about some of my past adventures on European mountains and in the Himalayas, particularly climbing in Tibet. However I am just not getting through to him, so after a while I give up and decide to keep my thoughts and emotions to myself. Anyway there’s so much to see, to observe and to feel.
Finally we reach the village of El Chaupi, travel quickly around it and then arrive at a gently sloping area called La Virgen. It is a grassy, relatively open area, often used for parking and is not positioned too far from the Ilinizas mountains. We will be able to trek in from there early the next morning and then start the actual climb of Norte. Our parking has brought us within striking and viewing distance of the twin peaks of the mountains and I’m almost brimming over with anticipation, although as Luis is nonchalant as ever I try to keep my feelings to myself. We agree to set up our tents with a cook tent in between, along the narrow trail leading towards the initial stony and rocky slopes. Luis puts up his tent near to the car but I pitch my tent much further towards the upper sections of the trail, closer to the mountains, as I want to have a clear view of our proposed ascent route as soon as possible. We seem to be blocking the way for other vehicles to pass by, but Luis assures me that this is unlikely to occur at this time and anyhow there aren’t really any other flat areas we could use safely. Driving in this region is always hazardous to say the least and I guess that if any other drivers want to pass by our tents they will undoubtedly do so, even if it means them driving initially down the steeper slope just below us, in order to pass around our vehicle and our tents.
As it’s already late in the afternoon and therefore too late to climb to any real extent today, Luis suggests we rest and have an early night after preparing dinner. I am feeling too excited about what lies ahead however and don’t want to wait, so I decide to trek off on my own in order to climb for a while on the lower slopes. I want to get a feel of what it will be like tomorrow and test out how the terrain feels before we commence our actual ascent. Luis is happy about it and I leave him at the tents preparing our evening meal while I quickly set off alone up the main trail. ‘Don’t get lost. If you do, head downwards and shout. Otherwise I’ll eat your dinner as well.’ His remark sends me off with a smile and after several minutes I turn around to wave but there’s only the tents gently moving in the breeze to reply.
There are springy tussock areas just ahead and I decide to climb through them, reasoning that this will be much easier on my feet. In fact I find the first sections rather wearing, although still manageable, and very soon get into a rhythm which feels comfortable. Initially I climb through a rather woody area before then reaching a high moraine ridge which allows me to look back and see our faraway camp, already microscopic in the distance. However, shortly after that I enter onto a hard rock section and from then on the going becomes very much tougher. My legs are starting to feel heavy, probably because of the high altitude and I worry as I am obviously still not sufficiently acclimatised. However I won’t give up too soon and continue climbing for about a further hour before deciding it’s time to h
ead back down. It feels reasonably cool with only a slight warm breeze, so I feel the concerns about storms and unsettled weather are a false alarm and we will be able to climb tomorrow without that worry. Going back down feels good and easy and I manage a fast pace and return within an hour.
Back at our camp we share in a basic dinner of meat and potatoes in the cook tent and after clearing up together I return to my own tent to catch up on some reading. It’s warmer than I expected so I undress totally and then get into my sleeping bag, which is more than adequately insulated to cope with the colder mountain night air which tries unsuccessfully to intimidate me. After completing only two chapters of a Gabriel García Marquez novel, I try to fall to sleep, wanting to be fresh for the early morning start. I find it difficult, as I am still keyed up by the thought of what tomorrow will bring.
After about half an hour I am finally dozing off when I am suddenly wakened by some very loud bellowing and see large, menacing, shadowy shapes clearly visible through the thin tent fabric. They seem to be passing extremely close and I feel, whatever they are, that they will invade my tent at any moment. I’m pretty certain they are cows, although certainly more energetic than the ones we passed on the way up, but the loud aggressive noises, now circling all around me, make me feel that one at least could be a bull. Initially I shout out, trying to warn them away, but to no avail and eventually I am forced to dress and step outside the tent to investigate. It seems we have tented along the pathway of a herd of cows that are returning, without any herder, to their evening pastures and they probably, quite rightly, resent anything and anyone being in their way. Fortunately for me, there is no bull. I wave my arms about in a mad fashion in order to try to frighten them off, even bellowing at them in a similar manner and eventually, after looking at me with seeming disbelief, the cows slowly take the hint and move off further down the hillside, looking to graze in quieter pastures.
Climbing The Equator Page 2
